


Lost in a Midnight Haze

by Patcho418



Series: There's a Garden... (Bees ficlets) [5]
Category: RWBY
Genre: Angst, Bumbleby - Freeform, F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Haircuts, In which Blake hates her hair, In which Yang knows how to cut hair, Inspired by Fanart, cute bumbleby fluff starting with some angst because I'm a monster
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-26
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-12-18 04:22:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18242303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Patcho418/pseuds/Patcho418
Summary: Some burdens are too heavy to bear.





	Lost in a Midnight Haze

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was partly inspired by some beautiful fanart by alie-black-cat-ler on tumblr  
> https://alie-black-cat-ler.tumblr.com/post/182626837921/moving-forward-commission-are-open-link  
> https://alie-black-cat-ler.tumblr.com/post/182637362986/shes-trimming-her-hair-this-is-in-response-to-my

Heavy.

That’s all it is now.

Blake twirls a tangle of midnight locks between her fingers, thumb stroking several knotted strands, her lips pulling into a frown. It pulls against her head, the weight of it pressed against her back, and as she continues to inspect split ends and tangles, her neck cranes towards the sink under the black mane.

She glances up into the mirror and her gaze catches; the world around her is fuzzy, dazing, vague, and yet she is crystal clear, a stark shadow in a blank world. Her features become striking on her pale face framed by that midnight weighing against her. Dark circles sit stagnant under her dull amber eyes, lacking any sort of shimmer they might have otherwise exuded. Saturated red lips betray the pallor of her face, a splash of unwanted colour that brings to mind unwelcome memories.

_Oh._

She purses her lips, feeling them like sandpaper against each other, and presses her eyes together, away from the unforgiving truth of the mirror; her head lulls downward again, like a string is protruding from the drain and dragging her towards it.

_Get away from her!_

Her eyes open for the briefest of moments as her fingers brush against the remnant of Gambol Shroud, sitting on the edge of the sink, waiting, broken. Her eyes study the cracks in the ebony blade, the bend of that vicious strike against the metal, the vaguest memory of red persisting.

_Quit staring and grab it!_

Her hand presses against her ear, a barrier of black hair separating them, and the voices only grow louder. She digs into her chapped lip with her sharp teeth, but any red that seeps is no different from the shade her lips already display. She moves her hand back, away from her ear, black locks still in hand. As she moves it back, she frantically collected every clump and every loose strand clamped to her head. With each handful, her arm grows heavy, but she doesn’t dare let any of it go. She needs to get rid of it, its weight, its whispers, its doubts and mistakes all heavy against her skull and pressed into her ears.

The weapon curls into her grasp, scraping against the enamel as she musters the strength in her trembling hands to bring it up to the bundle of black hair clenched in her fist. She checks the mirror, the world around her still thick and hazy, and lines up the halved blade with her hair. She angles the blade, tests the feeling of it in her hand, makes sure she can get it all in one clean stroke.

The burden is lifted as Blake pulls her hand away from the back of her head, fingers slowly unfurling around the now-dead locks as they fall heavily to the cold floor. She takes in her image again; not the cleanest cut she’d ever managed, with several wandering strands falling about her face and the vaguest stinging in her fingers.

It doesn’t matter. The weight is gone, and this mess can be fixed easily enough.

*

“What did you do?” Weiss grills, stepping closer to inspect her unkempt, freshly-cut hair.

Blake simply takes a thin strand in her fingers, lightly tugging at it; her face betrays no indication of how she feels about it. “I…needed to get rid of it. It was too much.”

Weiss sighs heavily, but her expression is understanding as she turns to Yang; the blonde simply eyes the small lacerations on her partner’s fingers that she’s trying to hide against her leg. Blake glances up at Yang, a familiar concern flashing across her face before it’s hidden again behind her usual mask.

Still, there’s something in those amber eyes that she can’t quite place. She feels like she knows Blake longer than she has, and for years has managed to pick up on small quirks of her personality. Her ears will flick when she hears something or someone behind her. Her eyes will drift towards canned tuna whenever they go shopping for groceries. When she reads, she places her finger behind her current page to angle it better for her eyes—she’s admitted to needing glasses before, with the same concern ghosting her features at the admission.

Yang knows what the look means, and she smiles warmly at Blake.

“It’s okay,” she soothes, taking a slow step towards her and Weiss. “You gotta deal with things in your own way.”

Blake’s gaze settles in Yang’s, and she can feel the mask cracking away. More and more these days does it vanish sooner. She has teammates who she knows she can trust, and who can absolutely trust her. There’s nothing to hide from any of them anymore, in team meetings when they’re finalizing details of a mission, in quiet interludes where they share meals and memories, and in tender solitude when her and Yang can be alone, together, things gone unsaid but no secrets between them.

A smirk flicks across her lips as Yang takes her hand in hers. “But you know you could have come to me if you wanted something a little less…messy,” she teases, though the tender way she caresses her fingers contradicts her words. “I used to cut Ruby’s hair all the time back at home.”

Weiss steps up beside them. “This doesn’t look _entirely_ unsalvageable. I’m sure you could do something with it!”

Yang nods to her, then looks back at Blake with a goofy smile. “What do you say, babe? Wanna see what magic these hands can perform?”

A groan follows Yang’s statement, and Weiss turns from them with a flick of her own long ponytail. “I should be used to this by now. I really should.”

“Yeah, you really should, Weiss,” Blake teases, her thumb curling around Yang’s knuckles.

The blonde takes in the sight of Blake’s botched trim again, already picturing how she might salvage the job, how she can work with what she’s been given. She takes a strand of midnight hair between her metal fingers and inspects Blake’s head, knowing exactly what she’s going to do to fix this mess; if she can manage Ruby’s consistently tangling hair, this should be a piece of cake.

*

“Yang…” Blake says breathlessly, her eyes trained on her reflection in front of her.

Somehow, Yang has managed the impossible and made her feel light again. Her hair sits nicely just below her ears, angling perfectly beside her jawline. She’s amazed at the softness of the ends against her chin, at the lift at the back of her head, at the perfectly uneven bangs across her brow, at the deep black her hair has taken on again, opposing the dead dull shade it was before.

The blonde proudly salutes to Blake, clippers in hand. “See? Told you these hands were magic!”

Blake scoffs playfully at Yang’s quip, shaking her head; the fresh hair brushes lightly against her nose, causing her to scrunch her face and stifle a giggle.

“I knew I could make you laugh,” Yang delights as she places the clippers on the side of the sink and helps Blake out of the bathrobe they’d used as a makeshift apron. She removes the towel from the back of her neck and gently brushes just under where her hair ends, sweeping away stray clippings into the sink before washing them down.

Blake stands and examines her image in the mirror, preening and angling herself as to take in every aspect of her partner’s work, and it is _perfect_. So perfect that Blake can’t help but smile at her reflection, with Yang standing behind her, an adoring look on her face.

And she revels in the silence and the weightlessness of the moment.

Yang’s arm finds its way to her waist, and almost by instinct Blake leans back into her embrace, a pleased hum in her throat. “So,” Yang says softly, her lips barely grazing her ear, “what’s the verdict?”

Blake leans further into Yang’s embrace, slipping her own arm back into her golden mane. Her head tilts to meet lilac eyes as her bangs glide across her forehead, allowing her take in Yang’s gentle expression fully. “Thank you,” she says with a delicate smirk, prompting a similar smile to grace Yang’s lips.

In her embrace, the world seems to stop for them. Blake affectionately studies the smaller details of Yang’s face, ones she knows all too well and yet still fill her heart with adoration. Every small, faint freckle she counts. Every small mark of battle, she longs to wish away with a touch or a gentle kiss. She takes in the creases of her smile, the fullness of her lips, the even lilac of her eyes, and nothing else is so crystal clear to her. In a world once hazy and muddied by doubts, she can always find the pure image of Yang in all of her beauty, and she can feel safe. Stable. Secure.

Yang exhales, her breath sifting through Blake’s hair, and she removes her arms from her partner’s waist. “Hey, I’m just gonna freshen up a little bit. I’m pretty sure I got some clippings in my arm.”

Blake nods, reluctant to move away from her partner but doing so nonetheless. As Yang inspects her arm in the mirror, she quickly brings her lips to Yang’s cheek and places a delicate, earnest kiss, prompting a smile and a blush from Yang. “I love you. Don’t take too long, okay?”

Yang nods and turns her attention back to her arm. Not wanting to keep her from maintenance, Blake turns towards the door and slips out of the bathroom; however, before the door can close behind her, she takes one final look at Yang, whose attention has shifted from her arm to her golden locks, which she has begun inspecting thoughtfully while she reaches for the shears on the side of the sink.


End file.
